The chaos of the auction was soon replaced by a deeper, more ominous tension.
The vampire "Shadow Guard" silently sealed the scene, moving soundlessly like phantoms melding with shadows. The werewolf "Earth Walkers" brought a completely different aura—their heavy steps carried primitive wildness, establishing a perimeter in the most direct manner while warily scrutinizing every vampire present.
The two factions' enforcers faced off distinctly, the air thick with the acrid scent of ancient hatred fermented. Any small spark could ignite this powder keg.
Elian and Rafe were protected at the center by their respective forces, yet could still feel each other's unpleasant hostility. That brief, forced "back-to-back" moment seemed like nothing more than an absurd illusion.
"Master Elian," a Shadow Guard captain in a black trench coat with pale complexion bowed respectfully. "The Council of Elders commands your immediate presence at the 'Hall of Silence' in the neutral zone."
Almost simultaneously, a burly werewolf with three claw scars across his face spoke gravely to Rafe: "Young Master, the Alpha orders you to meet at the Hall of Silence."
The two exchanged glances, both seeing identical disgust in the other's eyes.
The "Hall of Silence" was a special existence in Crescent City. Belonging to neither faction, it was an ancient building constructed of obsidian and granite. Legend claimed it existed before either vampires or werewolves first set foot on this land. This was the only designated location for the highest-level meetings between both sides, for signing or tearing up covenants.
When Elian's Rolls-Royce and Rafe's roaring Harley arrived at the Hall of Silence one after another, the entire building seemed to tremble slightly from these two vastly different auras.
Inside, the great hall was spacious and oppressive, with a soaring dome. Light filtered through narrow stained glass windows, casting mottled shadows on the floor. A massive round table carved from a single piece of obsidian sat in the center, already occupied by several figures.
Representing the vampire clan was Elian's "grandfather"—Elder Amadeus, who had lived nearly a thousand years. He appeared like a refined old professor, but his eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles were deep as ancient wells, showing not a ripple.
Representing the werewolf tribe was the current Alpha, Rafe's uncle, Barton. His frame was like an iron tower, corded muscles nearly bursting through his beast-hide vest. Years had carved wind and frost into his face while depositing mountain-like dignity.
Elian entered gracefully, his movements so composed he might have been attending afternoon tea. Rafe sat across from him with legs spread wide, his chair groaning under the strain.
"The moonstone is lost." Elder Amadeus's voice was soft yet carried unquestionable weight. He didn't even look at his descendant, his gaze remaining fixed on the table's reflection.
"It was stolen by the 'Purifiers,'" Barton's voice rumbled like thunder in the spacious hall. "Those human vermin are getting bolder."
"Their equipment, tactics, and precise prediction of our movements," Amadeus said slowly, "without inside information, I wouldn't believe it possible." As he spoke, he glanced meaningfully at the werewolves across the table.
Barton snorted coldly: "Exactly. To treat the Celestial Dome Club like their own backyard, coming and going as they please, probably only certain 'nobles' accustomed to scheming in shadows could provide such convenient conditions."
Verbal swords clashed, instantly igniting.
Elian sat upright, expressionless. He knew this mutual accusation performance had played out countless times over the past few centuries, utterly predictable.
Rafe had less patience. He slammed the table hard, the obsidian surface producing a dull boom: "Cut the crap! The thing was lost on your vampires' turf—you must take full responsibility!"
"Responsibility?" Elder Amadeus finally looked up, his gaze behind spectacle lenses falling on Rafe with cold scrutiny. "If not for your reckless bidding that drew everyone's attention and gave them an opportunity, would things have reached this point? Young man, your impulsiveness is exactly like your father's."
"Don't you dare mention my father!" Rafe exploded with rage, amber pupils igniting with golden flames—a sign of werewolf loss of control.
"Enough!" Barton's low growl stopped Rafe.
Amadeus also raised a hand, indicating the topic should end.
The hall fell silent again, an even more oppressive silence.
Finally, Amadeus broke the deadlock. "Now isn't the time for assigning blame. The Purifiers have declared war on both our races simultaneously. Their purpose likely extends far beyond a single moonstone. We must dig out this tumor before they make their next move."
Barton nodded in agreement: "Right. We must retrieve the moonstone and make them pay."
"Therefore," Elder Amadeus's gaze slowly moved between Elian and Rafe, "the Council of Elders and Tribal Assembly have jointly decided—to establish a temporary joint task force, led by both of you, with full authority to investigate this matter, recover the moonstone, and eliminate this Purifier force."
At these words, Elian's eternally unchanging ice-cold expression finally showed a crack. He frowned slightly, seeming about to speak.
Rafe exploded directly: "What?! Work with him? I'd rather go twist all those bastards' necks myself!"
"This is an order, not a discussion," Barton's tone brooked no argument. "Elian's mind and intelligence network, combined with your strength and ability to act—currently the best combination. You must learn to cooperate."
"Cooperate?" Rafe laughed mockingly, standing up and staring hard at Elian as if wanting to devour him alive. "You want me to cooperate with a treacherous, cunning vampire whose hands might still be stained with my father's blood?!"
These words exploded like a bomb in the hall.
All eyes focused on Rafe. His father, the previous Alpha, had mysteriously disappeared after a conflict with vampires ten years ago—alive or dead unknown. This was the werewolf tribe's eternal pain and the deepest wound between the two races.
"Rafe," Barton's voice became extremely stern, "watch your words!"
"What did I say wrong?!" Rafe's fury was uncontainable. He walked around the table, approaching Elian step by step, his powerful aura making the surrounding air thick. "Ten years ago, my father was last seen in your vampire territory! The one responsible for that area at the time was Elian's 'sire'—that bastard who specialized in conspiracies! Don't tell me this is just coincidence!"
Elian remained seated, not even looking up at the approaching Rafe. He simply took out a silk handkerchief leisurely, wiping his perfect nails as if Rafe's roars were merely annoying buzzing flies.
This ultimate contempt completely ignited Rafe's rage.
"Look at me, you temperatureless monster!" Rafe grabbed Elian's collar, lifting him from his chair.
However, the expected struggle never came. Elian followed his force and stood up, bringing them face to face.
Rafe could clearly see in those gray-blue eyes—no fear or anger, only bottomless, ice-cold emptiness.
"Speak!" Rafe growled, his burning breath spraying on Elian's cold face. "Was my father's disappearance your doing?!"
Elian finally looked up, meeting Rafe's fire-burning pupils. His voice was soft but like a poisoned ice pick, stabbing into Rafe's heart word by word.
"Your father," he paused, mouth curving into a cruel arc, "was too weak. Whether as a leader or as... an opponent."
"You're dead!"
Rafe's sanity completely snapped. He roared, raising his other fist.
"Stop!" Both Barton and Amadeus shouted simultaneously.
An invisible force bound Rafe's fist—Elder Amadeus had acted.
Elian gently brushed away Rafe's hand, straightening his collar as if something dirty had touched it. He stepped back, creating distance from Rafe, looking at him with almost pitying eyes.
"Anger, roaring, resorting to violence... is this how werewolves solve problems? No wonder you can only guard those unseemly businesses for us during the day," he said dismissively. "I agree to this alliance. Because I really want to see what interesting expression you'll have when your recklessness and stupidity drag you and your clan into desperate straits."
With that, he no longer spared Rafe a glance, nodding slightly to the two elders before turning and walking out of the Hall of Silence with elegant determination.
Rafe stood frozen, his body trembling with extreme rage. Every word of Elian's had struck precisely at his vulnerable points. It wasn't just insult—it was denial of the honor, strength, and his father that he cherished.
"You'll regret this, Elian," he swore silently. "I swear I'll make you pay a bloody price for your arrogance."
This unwilling covenant was forcibly forged in an atmosphere of near-rupture.
Exiting the Hall of Silence, Elian settled back into his car. Outside the window, the city's neon lights flashed by, casting flickering light and shadow on his cold profile.
His attendant, also his most loyal butler, asked quietly: "Master, will you really cooperate with that... beast?"
Elian closed his eyes, leaning back in the soft leather seat, saying faintly: "This is an opportunity. A chance to... observe closely and find all his weaknesses."
Just then, the butler handed him a tablet computer.
"Master, the first batch of on-site investigation reports are ready. The Purifiers left a special chemical residue at the scene. After analysis, this catalyst is currently only used in one place..."
Elian opened his eyes, looking at the analysis report displayed on the screen. For the first time, a truly cold glint flashed in his gray-blue eyes.
The report's conclusion pointed to an address—Crescent City Life Sciences Research Center.
That was the largest charitable enterprise under his name, and also his most secretive, most advanced... human blood research center.
The Purifiers' next target was crystal clear.